Viande
by hallulawy
Summary: Hannibal is immortal, his human skin intact because 'you are what you eat'.


Summary : Immortal!Hannibal and just. That's all I have.

Warnings : Uhh blood and drugging. Hannibal's feels. My awful writing.

Disclaimer : None of them are mine, they belong to Thomas Harris and the NBC production of the tv series.

A/N : I was bored and sad so I wrote something to make myself more depressed. Plus I was inspired by the Wendigo Hannibal.

—-

'You know,' Will starts, before drinking from the mug given to him earlier. He sips the tea slowly and allows a huff of satisfaction escape his lips.

'People die too early to realize the real trick to fool death.' He smiles, the dim light playing with the interior design by casting shadows on the lavish furniture. His features pallid and dark circles are conspicuous beneath his glassy eyes. But his cheeks are flushed, a lopsided smile hanging on the edge of his lips. Rare mirth twinkling in his narrowed gaze as sweat drips from his dark curls.

As random as the thought could be, he doesn't seem abashed by it. Ever so useful to keep prescribed drugs in the household, the doctor thought as he smooths his hair back, his eyes trying to decipher the code sent by this interloper he sent off earlier.

He managed to throw the die into the figures he needed in order to prevent the startling revelation that would require drastic measures. Which he would regret profusely in the future.

He remembered hearing a continuous knocking on the door at a most unfortunate hour. He was in the process of procuring raw ingredients, his hands deep red.

But still, he hastily opened the door, thinking it would be equally fine to have more supply. Yet to his dismay, he was greeted by his sleepwalking friend who stood on his front porch, eyes wild and teeth chattering in the cold night. He was inundated by confusion, his curls shivering in the night as he stutters out his part of understanding that echoes the doctor's.

'I've lost time again.' He was so close to bursting, hands covering his face and toes curling in despair. A conveyance of denial towards his own condition. But immediately he starts stammering about the dinner and the long drive home and the sudden furrow of his brows said everything.

Hannibal kept his bloodied hands behind him, cursing and suppressing the urge to smear it over his immaculate attire that he freed from the hydrophobic body suit in a hurry. It is left in a pile along with the meat. Berating himself over such petty yet deadly careless mistakes, he endeavours not to express his irritation and welcomed his friend into his abode yet again.

Previously invited to have dinner with the doctor, Will's attire was at least in an acceptable range with the plaids and jeans absent. The dinner was shared with care, meticulous not to step into the topics of their profession while enjoying the refinement of French cuisine and generous offers of red wine.  
Will went home soon. But only to return with his carkeys clutched in his hand and his sweatshirt soaked.

So very close, the doctor thought. Thanking the dim setting as a sign of retirement to sleep and excused himself to hurriedly clean the crimson off as quick as possible. He disputed the proposal to change into his nightwear to prevent suspicion breeding.

'I am Will Graham and I am in Baltimore, at 12:46 a.m.' He mutters, hands rubbing his face as Hannibal offers him a warm mug of tea.

The soothing concoction of honey lemon chamomile with a measured amount of methaqualone should be effective. If he's not mistaken, Will would be safely delivered to bed and kept far away from the incidence very soon.

And he was right. In front of him now, is a giggling mess of the usual lugubrious special agent Will Graham.

'Don't you think so?' The chiming laughter rings in Hannibal's ears, telling him to entertain his guest. Hearing the inquiry, Hannibal looks into the lovely face of an innocence with a thin smile. His white predatory teeth kept nicely behind his human skin.

'I see your point. Immortality has been craved by dictators and alchemists in the past.' He goes through the long list of the fear-addled men mentally. 'Would you think that it's impossible to attain eternal youth?' He pours more of the wine for himself, the intoxicating liquid swirls and slides against the inner walls of the Bordeaux glass. The blood mingles daringly and proves to accentuates the wine's unique sweetness. It now has a heavy smell of crushed succulent fruit and rueful cries for help.

Pondering, it intrigues him to no end that the topic of discussion would be revolving around something he knows far too well. So sudden, but as expected by this ever interesting pet.

'I know, because,' He giggles mindlessly and presents himself with an odd expression. His trembling hands gesticulates his lean body. 'My cells aren't regenerating any faster now, so that I could be any closer to immortality.' Will snorts and looks at his bare feet above the mahogany carpet with a coarse texture. He brushes his cold soles on them and his hands twitch like he's about to pet an animal. He purrs as he inhales the thin scent of alcohol from the glass suddenly placed under his nose. The inebriation has started even without the consumption. It's cool rim taps his lips and he parts them obediently.

'Your proof is only your body. Which is not an evidence that could stand your point completely.' He murmurs. He had long the adjacent seat and what should be a gnawing process of waiting evolves into the soothing observation of butterfly thoughts fluttering around the crown of the troubled creature's head. His hand is steady around the stem, swirling and luring the prey.

'I would deem your perception flawed, a contradiction of my own.' He feeds him the wine slowly, narrowing his eyes as the scarlet slowly disappears and tiny peek of the pink tongue lapping the liquid hungrily. 'There is an indisputable evidence, right under your nose.' Taking away the empty glass and puts it on the table with a clink, he takes the cold hands into his.

Will is yanked off of his seat and led to a set of stairs. His feet weighing him down, as though an iron ball is chained to his ankles. This forces him to bury his face into Hannibal's chest as he is subsequently carried by a pair of strong arms with a sigh. Laughing to himself at the absurdity of the situation, he paid no notice to Hannibal's silent appraisal of his weight.

He could see the ceilings without any dusts hanging, could see Hannibal's firm jawline and the loose opening of his silk shirt without the paisley tie hanging, urging him to skim his fingers through the doctor's Adam apple. He sighs as he didn't, buries his face even further and inhales deeply of the expensive cologne while he still can.

But what Will didn't see, was the crimson soaked female left on the kitchen floor, not entirely dismembered. The corpse is still fresh and about an hour away from facing rigor mortis. The doctor has only just started with the insolent shopkeeper.

Tucking the squirming brunet into the large bed, Hannibal calms him with a series of soft coos when the usually stoic agent whines out his refusal to sleep. He wants to talk more, wants to drink more of the lovely, peculiarly thick scented wine that he only had a taste of. At this, Hannibal smiles indulgently and thumbs the smooth cheek that felt like rose petals.

But Will huffs, and reminds the doctor of their topic by refusing to admit that he's wrong. His eyelashes obscuring the beautiful blue as they drop.

'Oh, but you are.' Hannibal caresses the sweet curls lovingly, though they are soaked with sweat. 'Just like the young men who sought for me in the past. They always wanted to know how Jack the Ripper lived up to his name and who he really was. They've got what they want.' He smiles.

'They were utterly exquisite when tried. I am certain that though as the appendage of the society, they are much more appreciated to be shared among the posh and cultivated.' He is reminiscent with the images of their filthy and cheap clothing disposed, the sight of their robust body made for exertion complete before blood leaking into the floor.

'The Boudin Blanc and Coq Au Vin Blanc was well received by my superiors then.' He chuckles. 'You said the Cajun boudin was mesmerizing, didn't you? Recipes really never gets old.' He stands, patting the soft duvet where the chest is, and felt the thrumming heartbeat.

'Soundss… Weird.' Will slurs, eyes narrowing into slits and voice faint. He closes his eyes and feels a soft peck on his forehead, gentle like a feather's caress.

Will feels surreal as if he fell into the arms of a creature, a creature beyond his knowledge. The hands that are supposedly finely manicured felt like claws, and he could almost taste the blood it previously dipped in as a finger shapes his lips.

This is a creature that has cheated death and won, he shivers as he felt a pair of cold lips touching his, tasting but not intrusive.

And then it left. Leaving him with the last piece of sanity and clarity before he falls backwards into a dreamless dimension. He was released.

Ambling towards the door, Hannibal unheeded the light snores by humming an old, childish tune he learnt from the frock clad girl under his tutelage during the reign of Queen Victoria.

'My dear Will, a lot of things are odd. And of course, including death itself.'  
Shutting the door behind him, he walks towards the kitchen. Somebody is waiting for him, or perhaps, something. He takes off his waistcoat and leaves it on the kitchen island. The ticking of his pocket watch is muffled, but tonight it executes its duties louder, warning him carefully as it only echoes in his ears.

Kneeling, he continues with his preparation. There's no need to rush. What's important is that he needs to be careful to not dirty the floor. Though Will posed as a disturbance earlier, he would not deem the poor beauty as rude.

No, no. He was merely lost in the sea of putrefaction of reality. He would have to offer him cleansing again.

Slowly, he parts the flesh and sees the inner reds that oozes with darkness and pulchritude. He thought idly of how much does he need to prevent his human coat from falling this time. Considering the lack of flab his material has this time, he would just have to make use of the intricate layers of meat provided. The consumption would have to start shortly after sunrise so to help him gain more time.

It's funny how things like this are measurable as if they are banal.  
Licking his chapped lips, he takes out the regular sized heart and shrugs internally as he smiles the tiniest smile. It is quite normal, if compared to the others he've seen. He squeezes it slightly, feel the trickle of blood down his wrist and curious on the change of scenario if Will were to witness this instead.

He ponders, and ducks his head again. Hair falling in front of his eyes.

Because it turns out that in the end, it doesn't really matter at all. Time, venue, subject and reason. He could feel the nibbling of time on his skin, and aware of how old he really is. It's not the first time he realize how much he wanted to add Will into his equation.

Placing the creation from the non-existent God into an airtight container, he picks up the carving knife with a granton edge, thin and long. Though the longing is hard to ignore, but he hums, now that he knows what he's going to prepare for his ever so endearing human companion in the morning.

The juice in the raw meat would be conserved and he knows Will would love it like he does in the end.

—

_A/N : I've always thought that Hannibal is reserved but he enjoys the thrill of being discovered sometimes. So that's why I wrote him as a bit clumsy(?) for not washing his hand first because he thought he could afford killing another anyway. But he didn't really expect it to be Will._


End file.
